


Words and Waves

by TheRedLittleGirl



Category: Black Sails, Treasure Island & Related Fandoms, Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst with a not as Angsty ending, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Character Death, Post Treasure Island, dealing with feelings when it's too late, or rather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedLittleGirl/pseuds/TheRedLittleGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”Y’know”, he mumbled without looking up. ”It wasn’t worth it.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Long John Silver ponders over his past after the events of Treasure Island and about all the things left unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words and Waves

**Author's Note:**

> My fill to a tumblr prompt, 'Tell Me - Silverflint', where one character tell the other something. Because it is me, it got angsty.
> 
> Unbeta'd, and English is not my native language, so apologies for any errors.

The sea was surprisingly calm and rocked the small shore boat gently. It had been left to drift along the coast for a while now, the oars pulled up and laid neatly inside.

It had been quite a good escape, if he said so himself.

Silver was doing his best to rummage through the supplies he could find, making a mental inventory of what was useful. It wasn’t scarce exactly, but he would have to go ashore within a day. Besides, a small shore boat was not made for sailing long distances. He grunted as he sat down in the stern and pulled one of the bags towards him to start repacking.

”Y’know”, he mumbled without looking up. ”It wasn’t worth it.”

He continued with his work. If he could fit all the necessary supplies in one bag, it would make everything a lot easier.

”Wasn’t worth any of it. Not the men, not the trip, not the fucking effort it took to arrange it all.” He noticed how he started to sound angry, voice raising, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Slowly, he let the air out of his mouth. Another breath. The second one trembled. He hated it. He threw a gun, which he’d grabbed in the last second before leaving the ship, inside the bag so hard that it could be heard clattering against the floor of the boat. He stared at it for a second before shoving the bag to the side and leaning his head in his hands. He rubbed his face, and then he breathed out slowly between chapped lips and looked ahead. ”Wasn’t worth you.”

No response. Of course there wasn’t any response. Silver shook his head. What was he even doing? He stood up, grabbed his crutch and moved to the bow, making sure he hadn’t missed anything there. The boat was rocking, but he’d learned long ago how to compensate for it.

”Perhaps I’m going insane, like the men left on the island. Talking to a fucking ghost…”

The loud squawk from behind almost made him jump, but he gathered his wits fast enough to stay upright. He turned and glared.

”What, were you feeling left out of the conversation?”

”Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!” The green parrot had clamped its talons around the gunwale, and seemed rather content sitting far away. Far enough so that Silver couldn’t chase her off with his crutch.

”Well, don’t you worry, Captain”, he said as he sat down again with another grunt, putting his crutch next to the oars and addressing the parrot. ”Is just Ol’ Long John reminiscing.” He paused. ”Perhaps I’ve done too much of that lately.”

He stared out at the sea. The wind wasn’t strong, but he could feel it play with his hair. It was graying now, and thinning in some places. ”I think, for the first time… I’m actually feeling my age.”

The comment made the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. He tore his eyes from the horizon and glanced over at the bird. She tilted her head in response. ”I know, pathetic, isn’t it? Been jumping around like I was thirty again. All over that fucking island. Takes its toll.”

It was true. His whole body was aching. Of course, he’d known worse pain, but this was more a constant presence than it had ever been before and he doubted it would go away. The fact that not all of that pain was physical was something he’d rather not think about.

”Perhaps this will be the last journey of the pirate John Silver, hm?” The parrot squawked in response. He laughed. ”No, I thought you wouldn’t like that. But I don’t think either you or me have many years left. Why not spend them in comfort?” He leaned back, glancing up at the sky. It was blue, not a cloud in sight. He let out another sigh. ”Wasn’t that what I said I’d do? Get some gold, settle down, have a calm and quiet life? Whatever happened with that?”

Of course, he knew the answer. What had happened had been Flint. The actual one, that was. He’d blown into Silver’s life like a hurricane and left all of his plans in shambles. He’d undone it all, undone Silver himself in a way. Hadn’t even stuck around long enough to help Silver rebuild it. Hadn’t given them the chance to rebuild it together. Silver shook his head, tried to ignore the warmth behind his eyes. Now he was truly getting old and sentimental. He looked at the small sack sitting in the corner of the boat, knowing that in contained a small part of the treasure he’d come so far for. Flint’s treasure.

”It’s terrifying, you know”, he said, to no one in particular. Or at least not to someone who was listening. ”Every time I try to remember your face I feel like another detail has slipped away. Spending time with those men didn’t help. Those of them who knew you only remembered how you were at the very end. I wasn’t even there at the end. I didn’t want to… I couldn’t…”

He rubbed his eyes again. The little wind there was was making his eyes water. He looked at the sack of coins again and let out a small laugh, though less happy this time. ”And all I got out of all this misery was to relieve old painful memories and four hundred guinness. I’ve got more than that stacked away with my wife. What a waste.”

By now, he’d given up all pretenses of not speaking to his old long dead captain. No one could hear him but the blasted parrot anyway. Perhaps talking it out would finally make him feel better.

”Though I suppose you’d just laugh at that. Say I had it coming. In the end, most of your treasure stayed right where you put it. The rest is in the possession of proper English folk. I’m not sure whether you’d have liked that or hated it. Well, proper English folk, me, and Ben Gunn.” He frowned for a second. ”Ben fucking Gunn. Who would have thought?”

He still remembered the first time they met, in the Maroon camp. Not that the man had made a huge impression. But he remembered because of the fact that it had been the first time he had gotten close to the captain, the first time they had talked without any lies, the first time…

”Who knew Ben Gunn could make such a good impression of you? The others thought you were coming back from the dead. Captain Flint, risen again. Scared shitless, they were. But didn’t fool Ol’ John. I confess it shook me. But I know your voice better than them. And I know you’re dead. Dead and buried, somewhere in fucking Savannah.” He looked over the gunwale, down into the water. Only his own face stared back. He hoped whoever had provided for burying the old pirate captain had at least had the decency to bury him at sea. In a strange way, it would make him feel better about sitting out here, talking to no one. Would almost feel as if someone was listening.

He directed his mind away from those thoughts and returned to the present. Perhaps it would be best to start steering towards land. However, he didn’t feel quite ready to leave the sea just yet.

”You would have liked the boy”, he found himself saying, a smile creeping back on his face. ”Told him I could see myself in him, but truly, he was much more you. Little Jim Hawkins, standing his ground in front of several rugged pirates, prepared to face death with his back straight. Never seen a braver boy than that.” It was true, and he could almost admit that he would miss him. ”Ay, you would have liked him. And you would have despised me for putting him at risk. For killing anyone, just to take back your gold. But I did. Innocent and good men to boot.”

Not that Flint himself had never done that, he’d done that plenty. Men, women, children. But considering the lengths Flint had gone to see so that none of them ever saw a single piece of that treasure, how many he had killed to ensure it, he would surely have hated Silver defying him one last time. Which was obviously one of the reasons he had done it.

”It wouldn’t have been worth the boy either. Not even the entire treasure, but certainly not this.” He aimed a kick at the tiny sack, but couldn’t reach and instead just caused the boat to rock and Captain Flint, the parrot, to squawk in her most displeased manner. He gave her an apologetic look before once again steering his gaze toward the sea. It was getting darker, and he wondered briefly for how long and how far they’d drifted.

”Suppose a noble gesture would be to throw the entire package in the sea. Would mean giving it back to you in a way. But you know I’d never do that. I never changed that much. Gold is gold, after all.”

It would also mean letting go of the only piece of Flint he had left. Well, other than… He glanced down at the bag of things he’d hastily assembled before disembarking from the Hispaniola. He reached down and opened it, pulling out a package wrapped in cloth. Carefully, he unwrapped it, revealing a book.

” _Meditations_ by Marcus Aurelius”, Silver read out loud. ”You know, over the years I’ve tried to read this. I get why you liked it, but it never stuck with me. Wasn’t written for me either. Few books were written for poor orphan boys that no one ever wanted.” He paused, feeling unfair for a moment. ”Well, apart from you. And my wife. Keeps me in line, that one. I think you'd like that too.”

That was a lie, of course. He had no idea what Flint would have thought of his wife. Would never know, and that suited him just fine. Flint didn’t have a say in those things anymore. Not after everything that happened.

He didn’t know why he’d taken the book when he left, all those years ago. By then, he knew what it meant to Flint. Had meant to Flint. The closer to the end, the less anything had mattered to Flint. Books and people alike. Part of him supposed he wanted to save the book for the man Flint used to be. Save some part of James. Part of him had probably just wanted to make Flint hurt the way he had been hurting. It had been stupid, he knew that. But if he hadn’t, it would probably have been thrown away once Flint died. It would have been such a shame. He tried not to think about whether or not Flint had ever noticed that the book was gone.

He didn’t open it to look at the dedication. He’d read it enough times to know what it said. ”I was never one for poetry like that. ’My Truest Love’. Not certain I ever understood what that meant. Perhaps I still don’t. What he meant to you, and you to him.” He wet his lips, his mouth going dry. ”But I did love you. And maybe you loved me. For all the things we told the crew, we were pretty fucking useless at telling things to each other, weren’t we?”

Would it have changed anything, had he said those words back then? It was impossible to know, and unnecessary to linger on. The words were out now at least, but no response. He hadn’t expected one. After all, John Silver didn’t believe in ghosts.

”People talk of you, but they never really talk about you. Perhaps me holding onto the book was all to show that someone out there still remembers you. Still knows your story…” He stopped. He was getting way too philosophical for his own good, and he could feel the parrot glaring at him from the other side of the boat. He gave the book a final pat before putting it back in the bag. He reached for the oars. It was one hell of an effort to get them right on his own. ”Here we go…”

The moment he put the oars in the water, a gust of strong wind hit the boat on the side and made it swing violently from side to side. It was all he could do to hold on to the oars. Captain Flint shouted profanities, flying up and down just above the boat. When it stilled, Silver looked around to make sure nothing was missing. Nothing had fallen into the water, but all the things he’d carefully packed in the bag were strewn all over the boat again, undoing all his work. He glared out over the water, but now it was calm and quiet once more.

A thought hit him, and it actually made him laugh, loudly and without holding back. It felt something like relief, letting it out. As if he'd been holding it in for far too long. Captain Flint gave him an affronted look, as if he was laughing at her. He shook his head.

”I just thought… No, never mind.”

He put the oars in the water again, and made for land, still laughing, quieter to himself now. It was almost as if the sea had wanted to tell him to just get on with it. Stop being sentimental, John, and move on. One last time.

John Silver didn’t believe in ghosts. Once, he’d said the same of Flint. Perhaps the sea had indeed taken back that man and kept him. Perhaps John Silver could start believing in some ghosts, like he had once believed in James Flint.


End file.
